


A Necessary Sacrifice

by alchemise



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Horror, Human Sacrifice, Religious Horror, ToT: Monster Mash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 08:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12503384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alchemise/pseuds/alchemise
Summary: The prince was chosen to be a human sacrifice. It was time to learn exactly what that meant.





	A Necessary Sacrifice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



> Happy Halloween!

He tugged against his restraints. Just a bit, not to look like he was trying to break free but more to test his limitations. He wasn't used to that: being limited. 

If he was being honest, the restraints did feel rather good. He thought about how he might apply this newfound knowledge after all this nonsense was over. His face threatened to break into a wicked grin, but he schooled his mouth to a more dour expression. This was very much not a joke. It wouldn't do to disgrace his family now.

A bell he'd heard earlier sounded again. Once, twice, three times. Then silence.

The silence part was boring. He thought himself quite skilled at discipline, but not being allowed to talk from the moment they bound his arms and legs was wearing his patience thin.

_How long could a human sacrifice possibly take?_

Hours, apparently.

He wiggled to get more comfortable. The stone slab they'd placed him on lacked the amenities he was used to. For that matter, the rough woolen gown they'd dressed him in didn't live up to his standards, either. He was a prince, dammit. He expected better.

He knew he should stop grumbling, even just to himself. This was an important honor (or so his hosts insisted). What really mattered was that it kept the peace between their two nations. The truce hadn't been broken in many generations and would continue, so long as its terms were fulfilled. One member of his royal family selected every thirty years to be given as a gift to some foreign god of prosperity who would then guarantee its people's fortunes, blah blah blah. That part had also been really boring. These people had far too many gods to keep track of.

Anyway, it wasn't really a sacrifice. He was told what would happen: He'd be "captured" by a bunch of priests. Then prepared for the sacrifice (the ceremonial bathing had been fun) and carried up a narrow trail to a sacred ledge on the edge of a cliff. There would be an elaborate ritual. During which he might experience some discomfort as he lay bound on a stone slab, while the priests lit incense and rang bells and such. He didn't know what any of it meant. At the end, they believed this god would show up, look into his eyes, speak a word, and then that was it. He could go home and back to his family, with thirty more years of peace due to his great sacrifice.

It wasn't like the god was actually real. 

When he was a child, he'd talked with the previous royal sacrifice after the last ritual: his great aunt, the Princess of the Northern Waves. She'd been the youngest of ten children, nowhere near a likely successor to the throne. He'd been selected for the same reason. Too many royal children; they didn't even have enough land to divide between them in any meaningful way. She was given the charge of a lake. He had a small forest. 

_The Prince of the Southwestern Woods, some title that was._

Neither of them would ever rule anything that mattered. The one thing they could do, however, was perform this diplomatic nonsense for their most powerful neighbors and keep both kingdoms happy.

Besides, she'd told him no god ever showed up. All of this was for show.

He wiggled a bit again. Four bells sounded. He knew the number four meant something significant to the priests' culture, but he'd never payed much attention when his tutor droned on about foreign politics and religions.

The priests snuffed out their incense on the ground and stood together with the slab in between them and the cliff's edge. He watched as, one by one, they turned their backs to the stone slab and its sacrifice on top.

At least something was finally happening. He wondered if he should act like he was meeting a god, since clearly the priests had the good sense not to watch the nothing that would happen, thus avoiding evidence that went against their faith. He decided instead that he would just lay there quietly. It seemed rather undiplomatic to pretend to meet a god in front of its holy people.

He hoped it wouldn't take too much longer, though; he had an itch on his back he couldn't reach and was very irritating.

Suddenly, he heard a shift of stones. A cascade of small rocks falling down the cliff.

He craned his neck to the left so he could see over the slab to the edge of the cliff. There was just enough light from the waning moon that he could see the sharp line that marked the boundary between this ledge and the emptiness beyond.

Something broke up that line, climbing over the edge.

It looked… hand-like. An appendage of some sort.

There was movement. A form shot up onto the ledge and circled the slab. Too fast, too dark for him to make out any details. Only a blur. He whipped his head around to track it, as the priests' gowns fluttered in the breeze of its passing.

Then stillness.

There was no sign of it anywhere. The priests remained unmoving.

A noise jerked his head to the left, back toward the cliff. It was a scrapping sound on the side of the slab, below where his gaze could reach.

This was impossible. Except it was happening.

He couldn't move a muscle, too terrified even to scramble away. And where would he go? A solid line of priests' backs to one side, rocks and air on every other. With _something_ making that awful scratching.

The _appendage_ (he knew that really was the only word for it) curled over the top of the slab. Then another, next to it. And another one still, down by his feet.

The bulk of the form followed, rising up and then bending over him, as it lowered itself down to mere inches from his skin. Its appendages held it aloft, cradling the slab on every side of him.

He could see no features, couldn't even discern if it were substance or spirit. Except that it felt as though it had weight to it—a gravity that was drawing him in.

Something like eyes opened above him, reflecting meager light from the moon. He thought he saw facets as their gazes locked, and he lost all awareness of himself while finally understanding what this was. Why it mattered. Why it was a _sacrifice_.

There was a question being asked of him in those eyes. It was looking for acquiescence.

He knew then why his great aunt had told him she'd met no god. She'd had to, or he never would have gone. He would have to do the same for whichever family member would follow him in thirty years' time. They couldn't know beforehand what they were agreeing to, what would happen if they were to refuse. The truce had to continue.

He nodded his assent.

The form bent lower, holding itself an infinitesimal distance from contact. Directly above his lips, it spoke one word, the sound traveling from it and into his mouth. Into him.

He would carry that word back home.

The form dissolved into the air, leaving behind scratches in the stone from where it had gripped the slab.

He sat up, as the priests turned back around and prepared to take him home.

It was done. The ritual was complete. The terms of the truce fulfilled.


End file.
